


First

by maneki_inu



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 18:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maneki_inu/pseuds/maneki_inu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill - she doesn't remember the first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First

**Author's Note:**

> For this prompt on the kinkmeme:
> 
> Eponine's "first time". Make it fluffy, angsty, incest, violence, prostitution, child abuse, femmeslash - whatever. (You may try to convince me that she died a virgin, but it'll take extra effort.) Bonus points if you describe Eponine discovering and dealing with her sexuality gradually.

She doesn’t remember the first.

Life as the spoiled and doted upon daughter of an inn keeper doesn’t prepare you for winter in Paris, homeless and hungry. They sleep under bridges, under trees. Her father rips her dress, blacks both her eyes and sends her out to beg. He gives her letters and when she returns with bleeding knuckles, indignant on the liberties taken by the aging baron, he slaps her and tells her to get the money before getting feisty with the clientele.

It’s easier when you’re hungry. When you’re cold and aching and everything hurts, nothing seems real. Faceless men may grab at you, push inside of you but it doesn’t matter, nothing matters, because you’re so hungry you can barely see anymore and the pain there is the least of it.

She doesn’t remember who was first. Who was second, or third, or…

She brings her father the money when she can’t avoid it. When she feels reckless enough, she spends the money on cheap bread and cheaper gin.

She can last like that for days, drunk and full. Everything is still blurry and fuzzy on the edges, it always is, but nothing hurts and she feels warm at last. She sings and dances in the street and talks to the trees and stars. She goes back to her father when she’s out of money, or sometimes he drags her back, and her world becomes cold and painful again.

It lasts like that for a season, until late spring warms the air and brings her back to her senses. By then, anything that remained of her chastity is long gone, her voice is ruined by the cheap gin, and she has only the vaguest memories of what happened in between.

She continues with it all when she has to, which isn’t really so often. She’s not as skilled a beggar as her sister, whose weak, youthful face seems to inspire pity far more than Eponine’s gaunt looks, but she’s not bad as a look out or a messenger.

Montparnasse ignores her at first, but he can’t deny that she’s useful and clever. At some point his looks start to linger.

It’s still a surprise when he corners her in the alley outside the tenement. Not because she is not used to men pushing her against walls or pushing their hands up her skirt, but because it’s Montparnasse. He’s beautiful , well-dressed, and self-admitted a connoisseur of the finer things in life and he’s rubbing his hands inside her, and when he brings them back to grab her neck, they feel wet and dirty.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never done this before,” he says biting her ear, and then pressing his mouth against hers. And she tries to think back, to remember if anyone ever did this before, but then his hands are gone, undoing his trousers and he says, “Don’t tell me I’m going to have to be gentle.”

He isn’t gentle, but he isn’t rough either. He’s close enough that she can see the skin on his neck, and she wants to run her hands across it, but her fingers are caked with mud, and anyway, he’s holding on to her biceps half-supporting her, and half-caging her against the wall.

“I can’t believe this is the only time you stop your incessant prattle,” he mutters at one point, which startles a laugh out of her. It shakes their bodies together, rattles everything in a way that feels so foreign it startles another surprised laugh. This either encourages him or angers him because he starts to drive into her faster, and soon the laugh becomes choked gasps. Before she knows what happened, she is writhing back against him. Somehow she pulled her hands free from his grasp because they are wrapped around his shoulders pulling him closer and he’s swearing and they are falling into the wall and it doesn’t matter, nothing matters as long as he doesn’t stop, as long as he inside her again and again and…

She must have blacked out because by the time she can see again, she’s collapsed half on the floor and Montparnesse putting himself right again.

“Let’s go; the others are going to be waiting for us.”

She sits there for a minute, unsure of what happened. She didn’t know it could be like that; it had never _been_ like that. It feels like something from a book her mother would have read long ago, and she doesn’t know how to reconcile that with what became her life.

Montparnasse has disappeared back into the shadows, leaving her alone. He’s not the first man to leave her in the streets half undressed and he’s not the first to be inside her, but it all feels different now. She isn’t sure what she is…disappointed, excited, eager?

She pushes to her feet and chases him back into the shadows.  


End file.
